


Learning the Hard Way

by Lynx22281



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, M/M, Young Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx22281/pseuds/Lynx22281
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean had to learn about being roofied the hard way.  Backstory for The Purge - 9.13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning the Hard Way

Thirteen years of living a nomadic life with a former marine for a father had taught Dean how to be vigilant, how to blend in and not be noticed, how to stay under the radar. But sometimes trouble found him regardless of all his training.

Armed with a reasonably well made fake ID proclaiming that he was 22-year-old Cecil Montgomery from Billings, Montana, he sauntered up to the 350-pound linebacker moonlighting as a bouncer at the door of a run-down dive bar in Nowheresville, Idaho. The little bit of peach fuzz darkening his jawline and the dim neon light overhead were just enough to keep him from looking like the baby-faced 18-year-old he really was. The man gave him a cursory glance from the top of his spiked dirty blond hair down to his scuffed up combat boots, but just shrugged and handed him back the card, obviously not paid enough to go over every ID with a fine-toothed comb.

This was far from his first time sneaking into a bar; he’d been doing it for the better part of a year and had only been caught twice, which taught him to stay away from college bars even though he could easily pass for a student. They had the best trained guard dogs that could sniff out a fake ID a mile away. He supposed it made sense. No bar owner in his right mind wanted to lose his liquor license over underage drinking in such a lucrative market.

So, Dean went with the low-key, hole-in-the-wall joints that were usually just a stone’s throw away from whatever crappy motel they were staying at for the week. These places hardly ever had bouncers posted out front and the crusty old bartenders inside never carded anybody. They also had the added benefit of a) being within walking distance of his bed for the night so he didn’t have to worry about leaving Baby in the parking lot until he sobered up enough to drive and b) being a hotbed for moderately attractive, middle-aged divorcees who thought he was cute and didn’t have any qualms about taking him home with them for the night.

This particular shithole met all of his requirements for a good time: reasonable selection of beer and liquor, a pool table, some down-on-their-luck older ladies looking for fun, and greasy food.

Dean settled himself on a barstool with a bottle of Budweiser while he waited for his burger and fries and watched replays of Stone Cold Steve Austin taking down Bret Hart during the _Royal Rumble_ from the past January on the TV over the bar.

“Well, ain’t you a pretty thing,” the man two seats down from Dean said with a smirk.

Dean glanced in the opposite direction before turning back to the man with a look of confusion.

“Yeah, I’m talkin’ ‘bout you, sweetheart,” he cooed.

It wasn’t the first time Dean had been hit on by a guy. Hell, sometimes he even flirted back, especially if the female population was a little low at whatever bar he happened to stumble into. At the end of the night he really didn’t care who the blow job came from, even if it meant sucking down another guy’s dick in return. Dean wasn’t overly picky about who he went home with (the best lay of his young life had been a 48-year-old mom who gave him a tin of homemade sugar cookies after she rode him all night).

This guy was relatively handsome, clean shaven, slightly shaggy wheat blond hair, hazel eyes, pretty cut figure from the way his black t-shirt hugged his torso, definitely someone Dean would usually have no problem batting his eyelashes at. But there was something about the way he looked at Dean that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, like a hunt was about to go sideways. That was something his years of hunter training wouldn’t let him ignore.

“Oh, uh…sorry, buddy,” he replied with an apologetic smile, not wanting to piss the guy off. “You’re not my type.”

The man’s grin widened as he scooted down to the seat next to Dean’s and threw an arm around his shoulders. “Aww, baby, don’t be like that. Ain’t nobody else here who can give you what you need.”

Thankfully Dean’s food arrived offering him the perfect distraction. Still smiling, he said, “I’m just here for a drink and some grub.”

“Alright, alright.” He pulled back and held up his hands, defensively. “No hard feelings, ok?”

“Sure,” Dean said with a nod as he bit into a French fry and turned his eyes back up to the TV, giving the man what he hoped was a firm dismissal.

A minute later a fresh bottle of beer was plunked down at Dean’s elbow. The guy didn’t say anything, just gave him a wink and headed over to the pool table tucked into the corner of the room.

“Thanks, man,” Dean called as swapped out the new beer for his empty one.

He sighed, staring down at his food, so much for getting laid tonight now that the skeezy dude had totally killed his mood. The prickly feeling between his shoulders didn’t go away just because the guy left him alone. He supposed he could always have a threesome with his left hand and the most recent issue of _Busty Asian Beauties_ that was buried in his duffle bag since Sam was out with school friends and wouldn’t be back to the motel until 11 o’clock and Dad was on a hunt three states away. At least he could take the time to enjoy his greasy dinner and the free beer he’d scored before heading back to the motel.

Three-quarters of the way through his burger, the plate began to swim in front of his eyes. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to get the room to be still.

“Hey, kid. You ok?” the grizzled bar tender asked as he passed by on his way to the other end of the bar.

“Huh? Oh, uh…yeah.” Dean belched and pressed his fist to the middle of his chest, wincing at the sudden wave of nausea threatening to bring back up the pretty good cheeseburger he’d rather not see wasted on the floor.

The old man gave him a skeptical look, but shrugged his shoulders and went about his work.

Dean swayed unsteadily on the barstool. The sudden feeling of _dangerdangerdanger_ crashed into him.

“Whoa there, cowboy,” a husky voice purred against his ear as strong hands grabbed hold of his shoulders, keeping him from taking a tumble.

His head rolled back limply as his body suddenly dissolved into mush, not heeding his command to _RUN!_

“Now, you and me are gonna have some fun, baby boy. Bet your asshole’s tighter than a virgin’s cunt. S’gonna feel so damn good. Maybe later I’ll get those pretty lips of yours wrapped around my dick.” He punctuated his words with a little grunt of pleasure as he hefted Dean’s arm up over his shoulder and started dragging him out of the bar.

“Mmm..mmm..mmm. You are the prettiest thing I ever set eyes on, darlin’. I might just have to keep you.” The man chuckled as he turned Dean around and pushed him face first against the cold brick wall of the bar. He unzipped his pants, belt buckle clanking as he fumbled to pull his cock out.

The sound of a shotgun being primed echoed in the alleyway.

“You best let the kid go,” the bartender said with a deadly calm.

“Fuck off, old man. This ain’t none of your business,” he hissed as he yanked down on the jeans that were slightly too big on Dean’s narrow hips, not at all ashamed that he now had an audience.

“You’re on my property, so it is my business.” He took a step closer. “Just want you to know that I got a key to county incinerator, so I ain’t got no worries about gettin’ rid of your sorry carcass if you don’t leave that boy alone.”

The man hesitated, throwing the bartender a look over his shoulder to gauge the seriousness of the threat. His eyes widened when he saw the giant bouncer standing next to the bartender, thumping a wicked looking Billy club against the palm of his hand.

“Fuck this shit,” he cursed and shoved away from Dean, tucking himself back into his pants as he stalked out of the alley with the bouncer following silently behind him at a distance.

Dean stumbled back away from the wall, tripping over his own feet. He winced at the sharp pain that flared up when his knees cracked on the pavement. With a low whine, he bent his head forward and threw up in his lap. His head pounded in time with his racing heartbeat.

“C’mon, son,” the older man said kindly as he hefted Dean back up to his feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Is there somebody I can call to come pick you up?”

Dean shook his head, immediately regretting the motion when dizziness turned his stomach and he heaved again, barely managing to aim away from the nice man’s shoes.

The bartender managed to get Dean to the backroom of the bar without any more mishaps. He settled Dean on the musty smelling couch, handed him a big glass of water, and stuck a trashcan between his knees before rifling through the pockets of Dean’s leather jacket and pulling out a key. “You stayin’ at the Moonlight Inn?”

“Yeah,” he croaked deciding it probably wasn’t a good idea to move his swimming head any more than absolutely necessary.

“Alright. If you give me your pants, I can throw them in the wash.”

Dean eyed him warily, but didn’t get the overwhelming sense that the other man was trying to take advantage of him. He sluggishly toed off his boots and shimmied out of his vomit covered jeans, holding them out for the bartender.

“You can stay here and sleep it off while your pants are gettin’ clean, then we’ll get you back to the motel. Sound good?”

He just nodded slowly and stretched out on the couch, feeling too much like shit to need any further coaxing.

A couple of hours later, he woke up with a splitting headache and his mouth tasting like something crawled inside and died. It took him a full minute to realize where he was and why he was there. Groaning, he rolled over on his back, throwing his arm over his eyes.

He’d been drugged.

_Fuck._

Dean ground his teeth together, fighting against the tears and nausea that threatened to return. If it hadn’t been for the bartender paying the slightest bit of attention to him, things would have ended very badly. He could hear his dad yelling at him that this was by far one of the dumbest things he’d ever done in his entire life, probably second only to the that time he left Sam alone to go the arcade in the motel lobby and the striga nearly took his little brother.

Angrily, he snatched up his freshly laundered jeans from where they had been neatly folded over the back of the couch and pulled them on. He was still a little woozy when he stood up, which only made him more upset with himself.

“Hey, kid, you feelin’ better?” the bartender asked as he walked into the room with a half empty glass of Coke in one hand.

“Yeah,” he replied with a short nod, shrugging into his jacket.

The man cast a critical eye over Dean, before nodding in return. “Alright then. Think you can make it across the street on your own?”

“Yeah.” If he was lucky, Sam wouldn’t be back yet and he could pretend to be passed out drunk and not have to deal with his brother until the morning.

“Just so you know, that guy ain’t gonna be buggin’ nobody anymore. We don’t take too kindly to his type around here. No means no regardless of who’s sayin’ it.” He stepped closer to lay his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “What happened tonight ain’t your fault.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks. I appreciate it. I uh…I realize what would have happened if you hadn’t followed us out.” The knowledge that he was very nearly raped made his stomach churn unpleasantly.

The bartender smiled gently. “Just doin’ my job. Ain’t the first time I’ve stopped something like that from happening and sadly, I’m sure it won’t be the last time. Just promise me you won’t take a drink from anybody ‘sides the person behind the counter, ok?”

“I promise.”

“Good. You’re welcome to back tomorrow night if you’re still in town, but I think you should stick to Shirley Temples, _Dean_.”

Crap. The guy must have found his wallet and his real ID when he went to wash his jeans. Dean blushed uncomfortably at being caught in his lie. He tried to grin and play it off as no big deal, but the bartender cuffed him upside his still reeling head and he knew he deserved it.

The older man ushered him through the bar to the front door. “You’re gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. Drink a lot of water before you go to bed and then head over to the Silver Diner in the morning. Tell Patty that Pete sent you and she’ll get you set up with the hangover special.”

“Thanks again,” he said as he shook hands with the bartender and the bouncer before heading back to the motel.

Later as he lay on his back under scratchy sheets, he thanked his lucky stars that he had two angels watching out for his dumb ass.


End file.
